The night in question, when Allie and her father came in, Mrs. Ashton was sitting in an easy chair, propped up by pillows. As she sat there, one could see that sickness and worry had wrought terrible ravages during the last year. Her thin, white face looked all the more ghastly because of her large, dreamy eyes; and her hands were so white and thin that they seemed as though transparent. Her hair, which had once been so golden, was now shimmering with silver; and no one who had known her a few years previous would recognize her now as the same person. Surely she had passed "under the rod." The suffering she had endured would have turned the rich purple wine of some women's natures into vinegar, and the drunkard's home would have been a miniature pandemonium; but it had not been so in the present instance. Ruth Ashton had borne her sorrows meekly; and, let me ask, what sorrow is greater than that which she had to bear? She had seen the man that she loved for his noble and manly attributes, ruined by strong drink; his bright intellect robbed of its lustre, and his loving heart made sluggish and cold. What shame she felt! For did not she and the children share in his degradation? What humiliation of spirit they endured! But she never spoke other than kindly to her husband. He had not the trite excuse of thousands of worthless husbands who are neglecting their homes and spending their money in the groggery, while their families are existing in squalor and famishing for bread. He could never say he was driven to drink by the naggings of a querulous wife; for though tried almost beyond human endurance--so tried, that the poor heart was well-nigh broken, and her flesh had almost failed--she never changed in her manner towards him, but was still the kind, loving wife she had been from the first. When he and Allie came in, every eye was turned upon him to see if he was, as usual, intoxicated; and when Mrs. Ashton saw that he was almost as sober as when he left home, her heart was filled with joy. "Hurry up, Mamie," she said, "and give your papa a seat. Take his hat, dear, and get his slippers. If you are not too tired, Allie dear, hurry up with the supper." Ashton was touched by the thoughtful kindness of his long-suffering wife, and he went over to where she was sitting and tenderly kissed er. "You have been a true, good wife to me," he said; "God never blessed a man with a better one. So sinned against, and yet so forgiving; so faithful, so loving." Tears were in his eyes as he spoke, and then he gently kissed her again; but Ruth never uttered a word. He sat down on a chair which was near the table, and, leaning his head upon the latter, wept bitterly.